The perfect sky is torn
by thisisnotmybeautifulhouse
Summary: If he were feeling more like himself, he might make a joke about how the hunters should only get two out of ten for their originality, because seriously? pre-Derek/Stiles, pre-Scott/Isaac, Complete


**I was feeling nostalgic and listening to music that was popular when I was little - so, late nineties, early two thousands, and then Natalie Imbruglia's ****_Torn_**** happened, and I wound up writing this oneshot, because everything can be related to ****_Teen Wolf_**** now. Urm. Yeah. I was actually supposed to be writing chapter seventeen of my mid-season two Stiles/Derek, Scott/Allison AU. It's halfway done and in need of tweaking, but this thing wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it so. There you go.**

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If he were feeling more like himself, he might make a joke about how the hunters should only get two out of ten for their originality, because seriously? The nudity was new, but the restraints and the location were so overused that they could practically be considered passe. How many times were hunters going to use the burnt out shell of the Hale ancestral home as their little house of horrors? Unfortunately, he didn't feel like himself at all at that moment. In fact, he felt more like one giant bruise, broken up by the occasional laceration for variety's sake.

All he'd wanted was to stock up on supplies for the thunderstorm that was coming - people a few counties over had reported power outages, and Stiles hadn't really felt like running out of non-perishables and toilet paper because of something so mundane as the _weather_ - and things had been fine right up until he'd finished putting everything in his Jeep and was getting ready to hop in the driver's side. The blow to the back of his head was totally unsporting, Stiles had to say, but admittedly unsurprising. The new batch of hunters in town lacked Chris Argent's scruples, preferring to follow his deranged father's school of thought, though not with the endgame of becoming the very thing they professed to hate. No, these guys were here because the alpha pack had come to town, but apparently they believed that members of the Hale pack were fair game as well - including any humans associated with them.

At first, he had tried to brazen his way out of everything, being his usual snarky, irreverent self. That ended after taking multiple blows to the head, and being stripped and then electrocuted to the point where he was a shaking, boneless mess on the floor of what used to be a rather spacious living room. When it became clear that he would be keeping his mouth shut for the foreseeable future, the hunter who seemed to be in charge, who had a good ten years and several inches on the rest of the group, decided they would leave him lying on the floor for a few hours, in the hopes that some time alone might make him more cooperative. As if. The only things his time in this ash-ridden place had accomplished were pissing him off even more and making him brutally aware of each and every wound inflicted while in the company of his captors.

If he were completely honest, he also felt pretty ashamed. None of the others had ever been bound and broken in nothing but their skin on this monument to all the ways that life can fall down around your feet. Still, since honesty was overrated at the best of times, he felt like that was a truth best left unsaid. Besides, admitting it would mean that the hunters had won, which wasn't something Stiles would ever accept - no matter how cold and helpless he was right now.

Then the sky opened up and the lightning started and Stiles pretty much wanted to tell the entire world to screw itself, because this? This was not an April shower. This was a freezing, unrelenting _deluge_, and he couldn't even muster up the strength to roll onto his side so that it would stop boring down upon his face, getting into his eyes and nose and pretty much whatever else it could reach. They _would_ leave him in the part of the room where there wasn't any roofing to shelter him from the rain. Was this just another form of torture? One they could carry out without even having to be in the same room? Hell, they probably weren't even within miles of this place anymore. They knew he wasn't going anywhere.

He tried one more time to shift into a better position, and then darkness swarmed up to meet him, the pain proving too much for him to handle. _Finally_.

Waking up to the feeling of a tongue on his chest was not on the list of things he expected for his Easter weekend. There wasn't anything sexual about the sensation - couldn't be, with the way the rest of him still felt beaten and abraded - there was simply a feeling of relief, the skin beginning to knit together and the pain slowly receding. Inhaling deeply, Stiles took in the scent of hypoallergenic fabric softener, something vaguely citrusy, and _Derek_. It was that last that persuaded him to pry his eyes open, which took way more effort than he was expecting when he started. Eventually, though, he was able to make out a low-hanging ceiling, and when he tilted his head toward his chin, he was met with a dark head full of hair.

"Hey," he rasped, his throat sore from screaming, his mouth parched.

Derek paused his ministrations to lift his head and tell him, "You might not want to talk for a while," one of his eyebrows raised pointedly.

And yeah, the wolf had a point, but when had Stiles ever listened to what he had to say? "How long have I been here?"

Heaving a put-upon sigh, Derek rolled his eyes, but well - what was he expecting? A little assault and torture wasn't going to shut Stiles up. No way. "Your dad called Scott to ask where you were four hours ago. Scott called you, couldn't get a hold of you, then he called Isaac, who told me. I found you a little over two hours ago, and had Scott tell your dad that you went to pick up some snacks to share with Scott when you slept over tonight, and forgot to let anyone know."

"So my dad thinks I'm spending the night with Scott? Will that be long enough for all of this," he flapped one hand in a pathetic attempt to encompass his injuries, then let it fall back onto what he could now tell was Derek's bed, in the apartment Stiles wasn't really supposed to know about "heal enough for me to go home?" The bruises from the last time he was kidnapped had completely faded just over a week ago, and there was no opposing team to blame this new set of what promised to be hideous colors painting his pale skin this time.

"Well, they would if you would let me get back to what I was doing before you opened your mouth."

"So - what? You're healing me with your super spit?" That - would be so much cooler if it wasn't so completely disgusting. But hey, at least he won't have to explain anything to his dad, other than his apparent inability to pick up his phone.

Derek simply gave him a glare that Stiles knew was meant to shut him up. For once, he decided to let it go. Not being in pain sounded pretty amazing right about now, and if the price of his relief was a little bit of silence on his part, he would take it. Even if that meant he was left with his own thoughts and the lapping of a slightly more than human tongue. As much as he appreciated the rescue and subsequent bizarre first aid treatment, he had to wonder: why wasn't Scott the one taking care of him? Not that he wanted to know what it felt like to have his friend's tongue all up in his business, but still. They were bros. It wasn't that much to ask, was it? Besides, it wasn't as if Scott was on a date or anything, since things with Allison were still in a sort of holding pattern. Although - a lot of his time was actually filled up with Isaac these days, so maybe that pattern would be broken soon? Stiles could only hope. Allison was great and all, but she'd more or less proven that she could be swayed to the darkside a few weeks back, and they really, really didn't need that kind of Anakin Skywalker crap on top of everything else.

Eventually, Stiles couldn't bite his tongue any longer, and he had a feeling Derek had known this would happen, because he didn't even get a growl for his breach of the "Be Silent, Be Still" edict. "So, how did you get stuck with this job? Did you guys draw straws or something?"

"No." More tongue - and yeah, that still sounded really wrong, especially since he could tell that his clotheslessness hadn't changed in the time he had been unconscious. Stiles had a feeling that it wasn't a concept he would ever get used to, though he would have plenty of time to try and prove himself wrong, considering how much abused flesh was left.

"Well - thanks, man." When Derek just kept focusing on a particularly painful patch of what barely passed for skin, Stiles cleared his throat awkwardly and told him, "If it helps I um - I didn't tell them anything."

Derek stilled, then looked up at him with an expression Stiles had never seen in his eyes before. "I know." Which just - sort of stole his ability to breathe, because apparently at some point in between those two agonizing hours they spent sniping at each other in the pool and now, Derek had started to actually _trust him_, and somehow Stiles had missed it.

Swallowing, Stiles licked his lips and winced - and got an idea, because Lydia was in love with Jackson, something seeing him as a giant murdering lizard _and_ a werewolf hadn't destroyed, and because he was tired of holding out for something he knew he would never have, and for some strange reason, knowing that he had managed to win Derek over gave him a sort of confidence he had never had before. "You know, I'm pretty sure the hunters hit me hard enough to split my lip at one point. You might want to do something about that."

Instead of pulling away or getting irritated, Derek watched him for a moment and then said, "This isn't something that just happens, Stiles. You have to be patient. But," he stresses, "we will get there - eventually."

Even though the skin pulled uncomfortably, Stiles could not fight the smile that stretched across his lips. Be patient, huh?

Stiles may not have been able to run inhumanly fast or howl at the moon or exhibit unfair grace, but being patient - that he could do. Especially if the end result was worth the wait.


End file.
